Twdg Violet Novels & Stories

She hated that she had said it. She did not know if it was true. She just needed it to be. “If she left a ribbon, she has hands,” Violet said. “Hands can be hit with lamps.” Mrs. Blythe murmured, “Correct.” That helped more than it should have. Theodore typed another message to Martin, then showed Violet the screen. Code word: waffle. Do not enter unless invited. Photograph ribbon/tag from outside if safe. Move them only after Miss Harlow confirms destination.

His small body curled softly against me, warm and trusting, and I pressed my cheek lightly to the top of his head. Across the courtyard, Violet abandoned her conversation and made her way to the trays again. Her steps lost their earlier confidence. She looked over each bottle, her breath growing uneven as she searched for the one she had planted. She found it in the wrong position and froze. She whispered something under her breath, then lifted it too quickly, like she expected it to disappear from her hand.

Vincent's voice cut Violet's thought short and dragged her out of her reverie. "Huh...?" She shifted her attention to him. When she saw his confused face, she smiled and nodded her head, "Yeah! My name is Violet Rhodes. The CEO of SHAVIO AUTOS AND ELECTRICALS," she removed her business card from her purse and handed it over to him. He also did the same thing.

“I don’t want her. It is you I want.” Before Indie could respond, the hospital doors swung open, and Daisy stepped out. Her eyes immediately landed on us. She sighed and began to approach us. “Thank goodness. I have been looking for you, Axel.” “What is it?” I groaned in annoyance. She was interrupting me and my mate. “Violet. The doctors said she had been poisoned with a rare kind of wolfsbane. But they have been able to stabilize her. Her vitals are okay, but she is still unconscious,” she said.

"Doing what?" "SkyDeck 71," he said. "The pack’s elite lounge. They need someone who knows the tastes of the High Houses to promote the new vintage of Wolfsbane Whiskey. Work the evenings. I’ll ensure the pay covers your mother’s bills." That night, the SkyDeck was crawling with the wealthy and the powerful. I was dressed in a gown of midnight blue that clung to every curve, moving between tables with a tray of crystal glasses.

Violet left her company and went to the Winston Group to meet Daniel. On her way there, Sam made an appointment so that Violet would not have to wait there. When they arrived at the Winston Group, Violet noticed Vance and Teo outside the building. "Luna" They bowed to her. Violet gave them a nod and walked into the building. The three men trailed her behind. "Are you certain you want to do that?" Gamma Teo inquired when he had heard from Sam about the land. "Of course," she answered casually. When they arrived at the CEO's office, Assistant Nick greeted Violet, saying,

For Violet. Always.

Violet The grand doors to the banquet hall swung open, and the hum of voices swelled into a roar. I held my head high, schooling my expression into one of serene confidence as Theodore and I walked in together. The crowns of light still lingered, drawing everyone’s attention. The banquet hall of Midnight Park was nothing short of opulent. Theodore hadn’t spared any expense for it. Crystal chandeliers cast soft, glittering light over the room, and the tables were adorned with Midnight blue and Darkmoon violet linens, all trimmed with silver. I remembered my wedding with Lucas, which had primarily been Darkmoon colors, at my father’s insistence. I had always felt bad about Twining River not be

I bit out, unable to stay quiet any longer. Fucking hell I was going to kill her when she was sober. Instead of answering right away, Violet mulled over my question by humming some unknown song, lazily dragging her fingers up and down her sopping wet torso. The sounds she let out led me to believe whatever drug Lorenzo had given her was laced with Wolfsbane. She mewled and panted as though every brush of her fingers was bringing her closer to the edge. “Violet.” I snarled, and her eyes snapped open.

And Violet watched. She leaned against the workbench, a clipboard dangling from her fingers, her own grease-stained coveralls unzipped to the sternum, showing the tight black tank top beneath. Her hair, a dark auburn mane, was tied up in a messy knot, tendrils escaping to curl against her neck. She took a slow sip from her coffee mug, the liquid bitter and cold. “Hudson,” she called out, her voice not loud but clear, cutting through the garage’s din.